


Stiles Does...

by DesiSky, Neville_The_Devil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Asexual Derek Hale, Beta Peter Hale, Betaed, Breaking and Entering, Co-written (mostly), Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, Harry Potter References, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Potions, Pre-Slash, Redeemed Peter Hale, Stiles & Derek Broship, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Werewolves, ace derek, but thats not uncommon for Stiles, do not copy to another site, follows canon up to season 2-ish, mostly?, spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesiSky/pseuds/DesiSky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neville_The_Devil/pseuds/Neville_The_Devil
Summary: Stiles has always been curious about Peter Hale. So he does some illegal snooping. With Potions, Spells and a little bit of Magic. Plus some obligatory angst.-This fic is a W.I.P (work in progress) but I promise it is still being updated even though the updates are probably going to be quite far apart... possibly. I can't see the future, so you never know.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall (mentioned), Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Derek Hale
Comments: 25
Kudos: 96





	1. Stiles Does... Potions (Dylan O'Brewing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Li'l Bit 'a Brewing Stiles Stilinski Style, hehe.

Peter was one of Stiles' greatest mysteries.

He could never figure out the previously psychotic-homicidal werewolf, always on the edge of the Pack and seeming to be just a shadow in the background. There were so many questions to ask the were' but never the opportunity. Stiles knew all he'd get for that would most likely be a supernaturally hard punch to the face.

So, with the physical violence in mind, he had to come up with another method of information gathering.

That of course, basically translated to stealing files from his dad to find out where Peter lived, a secret he had managed to keep from the pack, except for Derek who was hardly willing to divulge the information, probably on Peter's say so. 

The file stealing was par for the course for Stiles but the next part of his devious plan was a little less so. If he really wanted to know what he wanted to know, he would have to break into Peter's apartment. It was almost amazing how that was nearly Stiles' first choice of options considering he was the sheriff's son.

That however, had probably done the opposite of encourage him to be a law abiding citizen. In any case, Stiles did realize that nothing good could come of sneaking into a wolf's den but in his mind there wasn't really another choice. 

He may not have been smart enough to decide against the felony, but he did at least know to be prepared for his little mission.

To that end, he figured that the druid books from Deaton he'd been studying would come in handy if he intended to get away with his little crime of passion.

So he spent his Friday after school researching potions and spells to aid him.

At first, he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but the more he read and thought about exactly what he was trying to accomplish, the more he came up with a narrow list of ideas that might serve.

Most importantly, he needed something to somehow nullify the enhanced sensory gifts of shifters. That way he could at least hide his scent or sound if need be. After all what good would it do to succeed with the plan only to have it fail when Peter smelled the scent of him later on.

He managed to find a few spells to mask any sounds he should make but none of scent. The latter was not so easy to track down.

It was only after hours of search through some tome on plants and herbs and their many uses to alter the functions or states of the body, that he came across something useful. There were two recipes that seemed to fit his needs.

The first however called for the milk of a white oleander which Stiles knew to be poisonous. As much as he wanted to get into Peter's place he wasn't prepared to die in the attempt. So instead he chose the second potion recipe which used the petals of a black dahlia.

Surprisingly the preparation took far less time than he'd imagined.

Most of the ingredients were household spices and herbs. Only a handful he had to get from Deaton like the petals of the Dahlia. Naturally he had had to play a very nerve-racking game of toe the line talking to the man.

For every one question he had Deaton had five and asked them all in the seemingly nonthreatening way that almost lulled you into a false sense of security enough to be honest. It made for quite the challenge getting what he needed while trying to weasel out of Deaton's questions, like; What he would be needing poppy seeds and myrrh for? or, Did he know the proper proportions of elm powder to be used and that it was certainly not something you slip into a muffin mix.

By the time he'd escaped Deaton, thankfully with all he required that he couldn't get himself, it was already night, so he decided it would be best to spend Saturday on the actual potion making.

When his father got home on Saturday afternoon, he was met with the sight of his teenaged son sitting in the living room on the floor wearing Hogwarts robes, fake round glasses while brewing a potion in a cauldron and also watching Harry Potter.

The best response Stiles could manage was to look up at his father when he entered the room, smile and then turn back to his potions. The Sheriff, so used to his son’s antics, just hangs his coat up and calls to Stiles that he would be in his office, then leaves.

Though he sneakily took a photo for the 'My Son Is Weird But I Love Him' photo album he's collected over the years. Its quite full, not surprisingly.

After a whole day of brewing and four movies watched backward just because he could, starting with Deathly Hallows part two all the way to Order of The Phoenix, he finally completed the potions. He made three potions: one for masking his scent, and one for soundlessness in case Peter was home or came home unexpectedly. and one to reverse the effects of both.

In addition, he found a spell to revel hidden things. When he discovered it, he knew the spell was a bit vague, but it was worth a shot to ensure his mission wouldn't become a failure and waste of time.

Feeling very much like he was in a Potions class, he bottled them in some glass vials he had bought a while back, in an attempt to grow his personal stockpile of tools for his workings with magic.

Now all he had to do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Neville_The_Devil  
> Edited by DesiSky


	2. Stiles Does... Spell-ing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha, get it? 
> 
> 'Spell' ing. 
> 
> No...?

It was around 2pm on Sunday.

Stiles was finally equipped with all he would need to infiltrate the lair of the Zombiewolf. Potions were brewed, useful spells compiled and the address to Peter's secret yet not so secret apartment was safely stored in his noggin.

Granted he had had to steal said address from his father's computer files, under the pretence of bringing him his 'forgotten lunch' but all was well prepared and he was set.

Unsurprisingly, Peter Hale, had invested in an entire apartment building, a very nice one mind you, and was currently living on the top floor. Like the savvy businessman he was he rented out the other apartment for a hefty profit, instead of keeping the whole building empty to suit his loner brooding nature, like Stiles might have first assumed.

The complex was only about a 15-minute drive from the station so he getting there was a breeze.

Before leaving the relative safety of the Sheriff Station parking lot, he quickly downed the two potions.

First taking the one to mask his scent and succeeding it with the other to mask his sounds. Anticipating the nastiness he knocked them back like tequila shots in quick succession, and then grimaced for a long time before coughing a curse.

One thing he could say to J.K Rowling, was that she got one thing right about potions - they taste awful.

He waited, sitting there for maybe 2 minutes trying to note any side effects, like dizziness, nausea or fatigue. Last thing he wanted was to start to fall unconscious while he was walking and end up barrelling into a tree or falling into a pile in the middle of the street. He wondered if the potions had even worked too as he hadn't felt any sensations like tingling or mystical lights around his body.

He wasn't sure what to expect and it only occurred to him then, that he might have tried testing the potions before launching his secret and certainly dangerous mission. Deciding to not sweat the small stuff and just trust in his magical prowess and dedication, he took off and headed for Peter's.

Once he got to Peter's building he drove passed it, instead opting to park a few streets down in the empty parking lot behind some buildings and set off on foot. It simply wouldn't do to have put in so much effort, and then have Peter spot his very obvious jeep on the off chance he happened to be walking by. 

Like they say hope for the best but prepare for the worst. And Stiles liked to be prepared. 

To that end, he had a few sweet spells in his arsenal, one of which was a spell that would let him 'sense' if anyone was around him.

The only downside was, like most of the spells, he only had a small amount of hope they would actually work, as most of the texts were old and he didn't have much chance to practice. Again he would probably have to leave it to his belief in himself and his determination to succeed here.

After all, wasn't that what Deaton had said was most important. To believe. 

As he approached Peter's building, he paused, took a deep breath, collected his thoughts, courage and belief and performed the first spell. "Sive, sensus, spiritus et caro, coram homenum revelio propo!" The words, were old and felt weird in his mouth.

He knew he'd pronounced them right because he'd spent at least an hour making sure he had that covered. Now that he said them with intention and an impressive intonation that would make Deaton proud, he could almost feel something shifting or rearranging between him and the world around him. Once that faded, it only took a few seconds for him to feel a tingling sensation in his palms.

It was like someone had taken a feather and held his hand open so they could brush it's soft, delicate tip across the surface of his skin. It was very faint but he could definitely feel it.

He walked around and entered the building, pushing through the large glass double doors. But before he could open them, the moment his palms touched the glass, he felt the tingling grow. He figured that meant there was a person or people in that room.

Smiling at his near certainty now that his magic skills had paid off, he proceeded and was happy to find one woman sitting in the lobby wearing headphones and flipping through a magazine.

A man stood before the elevator and quickly ducked in as it opened. When the door closed behind him and Stiles watched it's ascension through the floor numbers on the monitor, the tingling died down to a low thrum as before. 

Grinning, and absolutely sure it was working now, he headed toward the security room and sensed that no one was in there.

When he tried for the door though it was locked. He had decided that breaking in to the security room and then stealing the spare key to Peter's apartment would probably be far smarter and less noticed by Peter, than picking the lock on his door.

Of course he wouldn't have to let his lock-picking skills go to waste so he set to work on the door of the security room, all the while paying attention to the low tingle in his palms. It only took him a few moments but then he was in. Rifling through all the drawers he found the spare keys to every room and quickly picked out Peter's. He grabbed it and then turned tot he security cameras.

He was tempted to shut them off but he had debated this with himself before. Supposing there was a crime here... one besides the one he was committing, like a murder or something. If he shut off the cameras he could be aiding a criminal, again a different more malicious criminal than himself.

Biting his lip, he left it deciding again to rely on another spell in his bag of tricks, to go unseen under electronic eyes. 

It had been worded like that in the book he'd taken it from and seemed relatively new agey and less likely to work but considering his magical success thus far, he figured he'd give it a shot. 

As he took the elevator up, the tingling feeling from his sensory spell kept changing from low thrumming tingles, to harsh buzzing sensations and then low again when he got to different levels.

Obviously it was meant to suggest different numbers of people on each floor but by the time Stiles had made it to the top floor, it was very disconcerting. Idly he wondered if he could control what tingled, and that gave him a very dirty thought he had to discard quickly.

When the doors opened, Stiles stepped out of the elevator saying the spell to hide him from surveillance. It occurred to him that he might have used it before he entered the building but hey, he was not perfect.

He was reminded of that instantly by the speeding up of his heart and his breathing. Stiles was experienced with breaking the law after a fashion, but knowing it was a werewolf den with a very ruthless and certainly, territorial were' made things a lot more intimidating.

He knew Peter, maybe not as well as he would like, but he knew the man wouldn't like anyone invading his private life and that thought made him want to hurry up and get in and out as soon as possible.

So, as soon as he got to the door he checked his trusty palms to be sure there was no one in the room and then used the key to enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Neville_The_Devil  
> Edited by DesiSky


	3. Stiles Does... Some Snooping (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In we go to the lions den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was longer than the others I think, yay.

When you think of villains in any work of fiction, you do not imagine them doing mundane tasks like cooking, brushing their teeth or even using a toilet. This is because we’re not supposed to see the humanity in them, just the evil plots and villainy. In that case, to Stiles, Peter Hale was once, very much a villain just like any other, with a tragic back story and a revenge plot. And just like stories, Stiles and all the rest of the pack only saw Peters villainous plans and evil façade. At least Stiles used to only see those things, before he began looking a little harder at Peter and all the things he didn't say or do.

Even still, it was a bit hard to put away that idea that Peter was more of an idea like the villains on tv than a real person. So when Stiles walked into his quiet and vacant apartment, he wasn't quite sure what more he expected to find besides the mundane items of a lived in home. For example, the newspaper on the coffee table still opened and folded in half to where he imagined Peter was last reading. The television remote had been thrown onto a couch where it lay awkwardly sinking between the cushions. An empty mug stood on the dining table stained with a dark streak Stiles assumed was once a drop of coffee that had slid a trail over the edge. And in the kitchen there was a dish rack only mildly wet now from the dishes that had been stacked in it after their washing. They were all simple things that if you were to enter anyone else’s home, wouldn’t even be something you noticed or took a second glance at.  
  


Besides those things Stiles noted a massive bookcase lining the entirety of one of the walls in the living room. He walked over silently, and ran his hand, still tingled from one of the potions, along the spines. Some were worn older books that he recognized from pack research but some he had never seen before. There were also some newer ones. He supposed Peter did miss out on a lot of good books while he was in a coma for six years then spent the next few months murdering a bunch of people while insane.

He knew he'd always liked Peter, besides his whole psycho-killer arc, with his wit and sarcasm, even when he was afraid of him, he had never pretended not to find a certain charm and endearing energy about the man. Peter, he felt, was similar to him, just with darker morals and a proclivity for murder. Stiles suspected before the fire Peter was even more like him and definitely less bitey and stabby.

He knew the fire and all the recent events had changed the two Hale men and he wasn't blind to the pain they must feel. Derek was easier as Stiles new what Derek had weighing on his conscience as he was present for some of it, whereas Peter was harder to pinpoint which part of their fucked-up lives actually hurt him or rather continued to haunt him and leave him so distant and closed off. That more than anything else was the most important objective of his mission; To find out what Peter was hiding and maybe try to help him. He'd seen the good in the man and wanted to see more of him.

As he looked at the books, he saw most of them had been read and in his own fantasy world he hoped maybe, one day they could actually talk about their shared likes and debate about stupid stuff like books and both their skewed morals. He knew it was just a fantasy, he didn't have high hopes. He never did and Peter certainly didn't encourage that sort of thing.

Stiles reached into his pocket and removed the small piece of paper with the spell written down which would reveal hidden things. He had no idea what would happen when the spell was cast but he just hoped he didn't get blown up, very unlikely he thought but you never know. He was about to begin the spell, his lips parting in preparation of the right intonation when he realized no words would come out of his mouth. Testing, he tried speaking but there was nothing but silence about him and the ambient sound of life's background noise. He whacked his head annoyed at himself for not thinking of this. Weighing his options he thought about the potion to cancel the soundlessness. It had served it's purpose after all to get him in. He had really needed it more to avoid Peter's senses if he were in but Peter wasn't. However there was the risk of him showing up and Stiles could use every advantage to get out unscathed if that happened. 

Should he take it and be closer to finding what he wanted or not take it and take a longer time searching, which risked Peter finding him. Immediately he knew what he wanted. He'd never been one to back down from a little danger and he'd always been one to go as far a possibly for information- it was the Slytherin in him and as much as it pained him to admit a little Gryffindor-esque.

Stiles retrieved the vial from his other pocket and drank it down. Shaking his head at the foul taste, almost instantly he noticed his fingers slowly stop tingling and he began to hear his breathing and the quiet rustle of his clothes. The potion, unfortunately had counteracted all active spells and effects working on him which included his ability to sense people near as much as his soundlessness. The lack of scent though, he knew or rather hoped would remain and should considering the recipe. it required a special decoction to undo it. 

"Stiles testing 1 2 3," he tried for good measure and smiled when the comforting sound of his own voice met his ears. "Great, voice is back. Guess its spell time." He had spent more time looking through Deaton's Polish books more as it was a language he mostly, knew how to speak, as a result of his mother and her Polish heritage. He didn't want to risk anymore of his terrible Latin or god forbid, Arabic, then mess up the spell.

"Pokaż swoje sekrety, pokaż je teraz..." When nothing happened he re said the spell to make sure as the spell didn't specifically state how many times the spell needed to be said. He kept repeating it until he felt something happen

HIs eyes began to burn, and he closed them panicking, pressing his palms against them. He made a hissing noise as the burn intensified. Luckily, it didn't last long and when he managed to open his eyes, it was blurry to begin with but slowly cleared up after a few seconds. As he blinked and the room got clearer, Stiles noticed the glowing coming from one of the rooms. He walked towards the room and entered, finding it to be Peter's bedroom, he guessed. Stiles silently berated himself, for not checking the room earlier.

He had not thought of a bedroom for some reason, and it would have been good to check the room before using the spell as it made it a little hard to see with the glow so bright. Instead of looking around, which would have been his first instinct, he went straight to the source of light. It seemed to be coming from the fitted sliding door wardrobe in the wall adjacent to the bed.

He slid the wooden door open and kneeled onto the floor where the glow was coming from. Cautiously, he reached out to touch the object and immediately as he made contact the glowing ceased. The item was a heavy duty looking safe, unsurprisingly. Werewolves were strong, Peter wouldn't buy one he knew could be broken into easily.

He huffed out in minute defeat. This was certainly one of those moments he wished he hand a wand and could just pull a Hermione, and shout 'Alohomora'. Alas, it was not to be. Magic may be real, but the easiness of Hogwarts magic was not. He had to research difficult spell in foreign languages and there were no wands, unfortunately. Cocking his head aside he thought about that. Maybe it wasn't that hard? After all they all said the most important things were will and intention, at least a slight step above the right ingredients and the right pronunciations and all that. Stiles sat down cross legged in front of the safe and held both his hands flat against the front of it. He searched his inner self where lay the ampty space that was filled with his natural magic. Magic was in his blood and emanated from every cell of his being but when he turned his consciousness inward, when he learned how, he could always find the well spring of his natural magic like a cavity inside filled with a shimmering essence. Drawing straight from it in a way he didn't fully understand how he was doing, he willed the safe door open.

He started gently, then got increasingly inpatient as time went on. It was half agitation at his failure and half fear of the fact that the longer he was there the more chance there was of Peter returning. Changing to a different tactic, Stiles tries to imagine the door unlocking, hearing the mechanism moving, the bolt sliding across and the door slowly opening. Moving his hands to the sides, he kept concentrating until suddenly the door had gently swung open.

Stiles smiled at his success as well as his inadvertent discovery for applications for his magic. If he could do that without spells and potions, what else might he do. Vaguely it occurred to him that spells and potions maybe, more intended for those without natural ability. With a shake of his head he tossed those thoughts aside and refocused on the task at hand. He glossed over the contents of te safe quickly assessing what he was looking at. There was, of course, the money, which he didn't not touch as much as he wanted to, just out of spite, a few files, a large wooden chest type box which took up about a 1/4 of the safe and a few other objects.

Starting with the files, he pulled them out, shuffled back a bit, and laid them on the ground. Some were just financial records, like for his car(s) and his investments including this building and some in town. Stiles had always known the Hales got a lot of their money from investing but he hadn't realized how many in beacon hills there were. He'd actually been to many of these places himself. In addition, Peter had also kept up the donations that the Hales had always made to places like the High school, the Hospital, the animal shelter, the town library and the local retirement home.

There was another file and inside contained information about Derek and Cora, the last of the Hales beside Peter. Clearly Peter had hired someone to keep tabs on them. It wasn't even a bad idea, he thought. A little intrusive but a necessary evil. It set his mind at peace knowing Derek was ok. He was like that annoying broody big brother you never really wanted but got anyway. Although, if he ever saw a file with his name on it, Peter would never know what hit him. He new that made him a hypocrite, but he never said he was a saint. All that was left in the large safe was a wooden box the size that could just about fit a pair of shoes. He grabbed it gently, pulling it out of the wardrobe onto he the bedroom floor. 

It was a nice chest, almost antique looking. He turned the box around to look at it closer and he noticed dozens of initials carved into the underside of the chest. He spied the clusters of initials he recognized. There was TH, PH, LH, JH, DH, CH. He traced over the PH, imagining a younger Peter tracing his name in to the box, with a smile. How old would he have been, must have been young as even Cora has her name on the box and she hadn't even been a pre-teen before the fire. He can just imagine all their bright happy faces smiling up at their family as they carved their name out with their claws.

He doubted that would ever happen again. The Hales were a dying breed. Cora didn't seem the maternal type, and Derek probably would never find a woman who didn't want to kill him or just use him for nefarious purposes. Though Peter maybe would have kids just to continue the Hale line. He hoped not, cause he deserved better. To have a real family again, not out of obligation.

Knowing Peter, it's seemed more of an idealized hope. Peter would probably spend the rest of his life alone, not wanting to get close to anyone afraid they'd end up dead. Wait... ha nope that's Derek again. Maybe they're just the similar.

He'd guess it was a Hale trait, or just them being human. Unintentional pun, but still true. Stiles knew if he'd been through what the Hales' had been through he probably would have not survived it. He didn't even know if he'd survive if his dad died. Probably more so because his Dad was his entire family, he guessed it wasn't the same as multiple people, especially if you added pack bonds to the equation.

All that proved was that they're some of the strongest people Stiles had ever known. Even with all the shit that had happened to him, he was glad he'd met them all, his friends, his family, his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Polish spell means 'Show your secrets, show them now'. I literally just put it into google translate so sorry if it not correct, I don't know polish.
> 
> Next chapter is 'Stiles Does Some Snooping (Part 2)' and is the first to be fully co-written by me (Neville_The_Devil) and DesiSky


	4. Stiles Does... Some Snooping (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles opens the box, finally.  
> 

This was one of those moments in his life when Stiles really questioned his morals.

He knew he wasn't an angel like dear Scotty boy, however, he was no heartless, soulless demon spawn either. He was simply willing to do what he had to do to protect the people he loved. Even if that sometimes meant killing. Not murder, just Stiles putting down the big baddies of Beacon Hills when there really was no other option.

(Too many times he had seen situations where so much pain and bloodshed could have been avoided, if only someone had just been resolved enough to exterminate the threat, rather than trying to reason with it or teach it a better way. There were some creatures in the world and even some people, who simply could not see the light no matter how you tried.)

All in all, Stiles had become someone he felt was capable now of making those decisions.

Not a tainted soul for sure, but definitely not pure either. Perhaps one day in the future he might look back on today and wonder, if he had been a better person, would he have done the right thing and put the chest back and left? The key word clearly being, if.

However, Stiles was not a better person.

He was too curious and too stubborn just like his mum, or at least that's what his Dad always said anyway. He winced at the painful reminder of his mother, gone far too soon from his life. Taken from him by a monster that no one could fight and win, natural causes.

He did know what it was to lose what you loved, who you loved. He did know the agony of watching them slip away from you and knowing you couldn’t follow or stop it or save them. And for all that he knew, the loss, the pain, he could never compare it to what the Hales had been through, what Peter had been through.

Yes, if anyone, creature or human, ever hurt his father, his last remaining family, the same way the Argent’s had hurt Peter’s family. Stiles knew nothing in the world could stop him from raising hell and destroying those responsible, no matter the cost. What an interesting thought. If Stiles really considered it.

Yes, what Peter went through was much worse than just losing one already aging parent but Stiles would do exactly the same as Peter had done. He simply wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t good enough, to endure that loss at the hand of evil and let it go. Did that make him worse than Peter?

The simple answer would be yes, but life is never simple.

It was knowing that about himself that made him capable of making the really difficult decisions now. It was also a big part of the reason he could understand and empathize with Peter Hale for the things he had done.

The things he’d been judged so harshly for. Granted, they weren’t exactly the right choices, but to have witnessed and experienced so much destruction and pain, and then to be forced to spend every moment in agony as your body knit itself back together with nothing else to do but relive those moments of despair over and over for every day of your supposed recovery. It was a torture that no one deserved.

A torture that would drive anyone past insanity and make anyone willing to do whatever they could, whatever it took to punish the guilty, despite the collateral damage it might take.

* * *

Lock already open using magic, Stiles sat, palms pressed against the sides of the seasoned chest.

Eyes closed as he opened the box. Luckily, nothing troubling happened when the lip was peeled back, besides the hinges creaking slightly making him a little paranoid. There were no booby traps, or designs for weapons of mass destruction.

Not even perhaps a tiny basilisk or some other precious object acting as a horcrux for a piece of Peter’s soul, though of course that was hardly a realistic expectation.

Stiles was both disappointed and relieved that nothing too exciting was in the box, just a photo album. Of course, finding any information about the Hales was exciting, but he... maybe he just didn't know what he'd expected.

Thinking about Peter always invoked ideas of masterminded plans and hidden secrets. So finding nothing that even resembled those things set Stiles a little off balance.

He pulled out the dark blue leather photo album and inspected it carefully. It had a blank front, with the exception of metal detailing along the corners. It was the size of A4 paper and was made to open landscape.

He spent a few seconds just taking in the details of the album but eventually opened it after lowering himself to sit on the floor, with his back leaning against the bed.

The first page, which contained a few photographs, displayed what was clearly a very young Peter Hale. Stiles found himself smiling as he went on, his eyes appraising the adorableness that was a teenage Peter, with his oversized ears and innocent smile.

Most of the next dozen or so photos seemed to be Peter at college hanging with his friends. He seemed so happy and full of life. He was actually smiling. Apparently he’d done it a lot when he was younger, before all his tragedies, Stiles didn't think he'd ever seen Peter smile. And what a waste, because it was a beautiful smile.

Most of the photos had a small caption underneath the photo, some just stating what they were doing like 'Going To The Lake With The Gang' or 'At Pizza Hut With Marcus'. Such simple, mundane titles. Things he wouldn’t have been able to imagine Peter doing before looking into this album.

After a few pages Stiles had mentally complied the names of Peter’s friends and had guessed that Marcus was Peter’s closest, as he was depicted in nearly all of them.

There were also a few with Peter, Marcus and the Hales.

Stiles had seen photos with a smaller cuddlier Derek, and a few with baby Cora. It seemed that Marcus was very close with Peter’s pack. For how familiar the man appeared to be with the Hales, Stiles wondered if Marcus was also a wolf.

All in all, it was a beautiful collection of memories, and Stiles was grateful to have been able to see these people who he had, by now, known for some time, age and grow, their happy moments immortalized in these captured images.

However, it was also a sad and bitter experience to watch knowing the future of the people who would either die a brutal death or survive to live a miserable, angry life. A half life.

Slowly, eventually, Stiles started to understand.

It was so gradual, so subtle that it took awhile for him to catch on, which was unusual for him. But his detective’s mind put it together, and with words like, 'hanging with M' and 'Marcus and Family' to 'date with M' and 'Boyfriends Birthday Surprise' the complete picture fell into place.

The one which hit Stiles the most, was Marcus and Peter wrapped around the other, each smiling with such fervour as if the other had hung the moon.

They looked as if all that mattered in the world was them in that moment. Stiles knew before he even looked under the photo where the caption read 'When I finally said yes to the love of my life'.

He didn't go any farther in the album, feeling suddenly as if he had intruded on something he truly shouldn’t have. Funny, considering that he had broken in and snooped shamelessly up until then.

What he did do was flip back to the front of the book. Stiles only then spotted the words written on the first page that he missed in his haste to see the photos.

'This was made to show you how much I love you'

Wiping the single tear that had formed unexpectedly and slid down his cheek, he shut the book quickly, placed it back in the chest, locked the safe and swiftly left the apartment exactly as he'd found it.

Racing home, he felt a renewed and evolved hatred for the bitch called Kate Argent.

That hatred burned in him like a black fire that heated the pit of his stomach and then coursed through his veins until he could almost feel his physical temperature rising. That woman, that sorry excuse for a human being was more monstrous than the supposed beasts she claimed to hunt to protect the world.

She had ruined so much goodness and destroyed so much happiness.

All of it lost because of her misguided prejudice.


	5. Stiles Does... Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is trying to bake his way into Peters personal life and he and Derek share a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited, and half written, by Desi Sky and lets just say, the reason you got nearly 4000 words is cause of him so make sure you check out his Stories (their great). Wait, you may have found this story through Desi's account so, I would appreciate it very much if you could check out my (Neville_The_Devil's) account.
> 
> Anyway, I enjoyed this chapter so much and laughed so hard when I read through it, so hope you all enjoy it and on with the show.

After much deliberation, Stiles realizes that the best and probably only way he is going to convince Peter to let him into his den, is with bribery. It’s a great idea and of course everyone knows, the best way to a man’s heart, or home in this case though the two are definitely not mutually exclusive, is through his stomach. Considering also, that Peter already knows some of what Stiles is capable of when it comes to the culinary arts, it wouldn’t be hard at all to achieve his goal.

As a bonus, Stiles has had many chances at improving his cooking and baking skills in the past. Whether it be cooking for his dad after his mum died, making treats for his dad’s hard working deputies, or cooking for the bottomless pits he calls a pack. Which, naturally, includes a specific CreeperWolf.

Over the many months he’d been a part of the new Hale pack, Stiles had not only gotten used to the pack’s food preferences but also managed to find incredible workarounds, to feed them things they wouldn’t otherwise eat in it’s natural state. Like how Derek hated bananas but loved Stiles’ Banana Loaf and how Isaac who was afraid of blueberries – not didn’t like them, was actually afraid of them, who new - loved when Stiles baked blueberry muffins.

As for Peter, he loved Stiles’ apple and cinnamon crumble among a handful of other things. Stiles could remember vividly the first time Peter tried one, it was a sight to behold. The way Peter’s eyes had half closed and his lips had slightly parted, his face becoming a mask of ecstasy. Then he’d let out this low incredibly erotic moan that cemented that memory in Stiles’ mind for all time.

The sight of him like that, looking like a man frozen at the moment of climax, experiencing something that some people held sacred and preached should be saved for marriage, was one of those small life changing experiences for Stiles. Since then, that moment was something Stiles liked to think about often and on repeat. Especially when he found himself alone and lusty. Usually in his room, with an adventurous and debaucherous hand stationed between his legs and his teeth biting into his lower lip so hard it would sometimes draw blood. His toes would curl into the sheets tightly as his whole body tensed and then shuddered in release.

Stiles spent many a moment that day shaking his head in an attempt to free himself of that particular recollection, while he shopped at the supermarket. Sometimes he’d have to straighten up and shove his pelvis up against the back of the cart he pushed around to hide the fact that his jeans had tented in a very obvious display of arousal. It was quite the relief when he’d checked out of the supermarket and was distracted by the weight of his bags as he made his way to Derek’s loft.

Bogged down by the heavy load which left him sweaty and huffing, Stiles lugged his shopping, consisting mainly of baking ingredients and a few cooking supplies, into the now vacant loft. He briefly considered how useful the levitation spell would be here and even found himself whispering, wingardium leviosa at some point, even though he knew it wouldn’t work. Sometimes he felt like Derek and the others really did take their enhanced werewolf strength for granted.

Said werewolf, had moved out of the loft, and into a proper house with Isaac of course who had remained his permanent room-mate indefinitely and had become something of the little brother, Derek was kind of stuck with. His new house was close to town but was also close to the preserve where the old burnt mansion still resided. However, thanks to immense amounts of Hale fortune, the loft was still owned by Derek and was often used for the monthly pack night Stiles forced upon everyone with the support of the betas. Since Mr. Alpha was too much of a sour-wolf to participate willingly in pack snuggle time, Stiles and the Betas usually had to either bribe, or physically force Derek to come, something easier said than done. Derek’s new house was just slightly too small to fit everyone, as recently the pack had grown significantly with the Argent’s finally becoming something close to pack and Stiles’ dad and Melissa becoming fully integrated into the wolfy brotherhood.

Aside from being perfect for Stiles imposed mandatory gatherings, the loft was also surprisingly great for cheffing up a storm. It had a great kitchen with significant counter space, a large fridge and deep freeze for storage, and a beautiful oven which was both large and operated like one of those super professional industrial ovens. This made it perfect for baking and cooking and Stiles had used it often before Derek moved though now it was just a little too out of the way for frequent use, what with everyone living relatively close together, and life and stuff keeping Stiles pretty pressed for time. When he did have the time though, or the need for undisturbed culinary work it was the best choice as it was isolated enough that no were’ would come sniffing. Seriously, it was like the pack magically knew when he had just finished baking and would came charging in like Weasley’s at dinner time. It had happened on multiple occasions. Enough that Stiles had resolved to use the loft when he had clandestine baking to do much like today.

All of today’s baking was meant for Peter Hale and Peter Hale alone. Stiles was on a mission and he would not be railroaded by pack greed and opportunism. He would bake the treats and then use them to bribe Peter with. Or maybe just give them to him because he’s such a nice person. Definitely not someone who would break into your home and rifle through secrets memories of lost lovers. Nope. His treats were certainly not for nefarious purposes at all… nope. Idly he wondered, if Mrs. Weasley ever used food to bribe her family. And there he went questioning his morals… again. Where the hell did they go? At least this was not as bad as breaking an entering, maybe he was getting better.

Putting all his horrible thoughts away for the time being, Stiles dove into baking copious amounts of thing he thinks Peter will love enough to make that face Stiles yearns to see and be the cause of. This, is how Derek comes to find Stiles on a Saturday morning, shuffling around the loft’s kitchen, piles of freshly baked cookies placed on the table and mess everywhere else. Stiles may be an ace on the stove but something about the concept of clean as you go had never quite stuck with him. He was singing loudly to the most annoying song as it played in the background, at volumes which made werewolves want to howl. All Derek could do in response to the general mess that is Stiles Stilinski, was stand and contemplate his life choices.

How did he manage to get here. To a place where one group of teenagers run him out of one home only to find another teenager completely fucking up the kitchen of his other home, which by rights, should be the place he can use to escape them all. Why is the universe such a total bitch to him. He has never done anything to it except be born and he wasn’t aware that being born was remotely offensive. Now though he wonders at that when measured against his fate which seems to be suffering at the hands of people nearly a decade younger than he was.

He walks over to the music player and shuts it off abruptly at what sounded like it was about to climax with some serious alley cat caterwauling. “Stiles, what are you doing here?” Derek said, tone very clearly expressing his exasperation with this day and Stiles himself.

“Oh, hi Derek. To answer your question which probably should be obvious because well,” he gestures to the horrid mess around him as if it should be somehow self explanatory, “I’m baking.” He looked back at Derek and then frowned noticing that the man was wearing a different shade of irritation today than he normally carries around with him. “Are you alright, you look a bit peaky? When was the last time you ate? Did you forget breakfast? Dinner? What have I told you about taking proper care of yourself, honestly.” Stiles moved over to Derek and began to forcefully usher him to one of the stools around the kitchen’s island. He plopped a plate down in front of Derek, then proceeded to fill it with some of the freshly baked food, making sure he used extras and none of the treats that were specifically designated for Peter’s seduction- bribery- charitable non nefarious offering where no ulterior motives were involved.

“Seriously Derek you look like you’ve seen a dementor or something. I’ll have you know that I am more than familiar with your usual level of brood by now, know it by heart in fact and this, well this just seems way worse than normal today so eat, and spill. Tell Doctor Stiles what’s got the sour-wolf on the verge of becoming defeated-wolf” Stiles pushed the plate a little closer to the were’ and waited expectantly. The alpha enthusiastically bit into one of Stiles’ infamous baked goods and began munching, sighing happily at being fed.

“So…?” Stiles prodded causing Derek’s mood to flare for the worse again at being suddenly reminded why he was at the loft in the first place.

Derek glanced at Stiles, whose face softened with his concern and he huffed. “I’ve spent most of this week being run out of my own home because of three horny teens. I’m genuinely happy they’ve finally got their shit together, as we all know it’s been a long time coming, but I don’t need to hear, see or smell it.” Scowl firmly in place, Derek went back to his cookies using them as his only source of joy and comfort.

Stiles was also happy for his friends, finally plucking up the courage to attempt a triad. Honestly it wasn’t anything crazy I mean it was the twenty-first century, it wasn’t like they were the first ones to get involved in something like that. Not to mention, Stiles had gotten really tired of hearing Scott moon over both Alison and Isaac and despair over how difficult it was to find some way for them to all be together. He also had no idea how sex with all three of them was supposed to work which made sense because Scott was only newly liberated from his virginity and was a loveable idiot.

So doing the job of the best friend, Stiles had dutifully researched extensively, falling into a rabbit hole of porn. Much in the same way you start Youtube, looking at videos of the Bermuda triangle and then three hours later end up on videos of two headed cats in Egypt that are descended of the Goddess Bast. Stiles had given Scott the professionally put together binder containing his findings because well, he was Stiles and he half-assed nothing when it came to research. Then he made Scott pinkie promise to never talk to him about his sex life ever again. Stiles could sympathize with Derek having to know about Isaac’s, Scott’s and Alison’s adventures in bed. He also realized it would of course be worse for the alpha because of enhanced smell and having to live in that lingering scent of teen sex for who knows how long.

He also understood deeply Derek’s aversion to sex in general. At first, Stiles just morosely presumed he stopped being interested in sex after the ‘Bitch’ and the fire she’d instigated. However, he finally understood, after a few rounds of wolfsbane infused alcohol, that Derek had never really been interested even before the fire. Paige was the first girl he told about his, maybe strange but completely true distaste for things of a sexual nature, and the reason they bonded so much and the reason her death was so painful, was that she was the first person to fully accept that about him, besides his family.

Stiles himself didn’t really understand how that worked. Derek was such a virile, stud in his eyes. Of course Stiles had never really had feelings like that for him but he wasn’t blind and he knew how attractive the man was. Not to mention he saw how others looked at him. Even Erica was obsessed with Derek for a while. He just inspired sexy thoughts wherever he went. So a young and horny teen himself, Stiles couldn’t fathom not being interested in sex. He had wondered perhaps Derek had been scarred or traumatized in some way that made him feel like that.

However, he didn’t need to understand it for him to accept that it was who Derek was, whether temporary or changeable, though the way Derek explained it, it didn’t seem like something that would change. Stiles was his friend, and even though their relationship could be rocky and tenuous at times, even though it was the definition of love/hate, Stiles had accepted it when he’d been told. The revelation had elevated their relationship, making them closer than before in a different way than either of them were close to anyone else. It was part of what made them family of sorts. Stiles’ prior cheery mood deflated listening to Derek and remembering the drunken night when Derek had spilled his guts, crying silently in grief. “I’m sorry sour-wolf, I know how uncomfortable it makes you.” Stiles reached out a hand and squeezed Derek gently on the shoulder.

Derek looked up, scowl softening at his friend’s words of comfort, “It’s fine Stiles, I really should be used to it by now, or I guess I’m going to have to get used to it if they keep treating my house like a parent free zone they can bang in whenever they want.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t have to get used to anything,” Stiles said, getting annoyed on Derek’s behalf. Derek had been trying in his own way to be more of an accommodating alpha for some time now. A while ago he’d have only kicked them all out of his house but now he was conceding so much and Stiles wasn’t sure it was a good thing. “Listen I can talk to Scott if you want, I can be discreet, I promise.” He added the last part quickly when Derek’s brow arched so high it might have flown right off his head.

“You discreet. You have zero chill Stiles,” Derek responded, pursing his lips.

“I’ve grown and stuff. I can be slick when I want. I watched Inception.” At that Derek snorted a laugh which was a big relief for Stiles from the previous forlorn expression on his friend’s face. Stiles found himself laughing with Derek until they fell into a brief silence.

“No, Its fine Stiles. I might just sleep here some nights. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” Derek finally admitted popping another cookie into his mouth and sighing as it’s deliciousness took away some of the sting of the day.

Stiles frowned at him and shook his head as if looking at a small child who had missed an obvious point, “I’ll always worry about you Derek, your pack.” It was almost funny that he was now saying these words to Derek, when Derek was the one who taught all of them what pack was in the first place. “And I’m serious, you can sleep here sometimes if you want, that’s your choice, but you don’t have to let the others do whatever they want. It’s your home and you should feel comfortable in it, whenever you want. I’m just saying.”

Derek nodded and they fell into another silence, this time a little more tense than before. “Well,” he began attempting to break it and change the subject, “we’ve established why I’m here, why are you here, when you have a perfectly good kitchen at your house you could be demolishing with flower, eggs and spices?” Derek asked it as he got up to fetch a glass of water, then returned to his seat. “Because it occurs to me from the cookies you just shoved down my throat, thanks by the way, and the other things I’m smelling here, that most if not everything you’ve made are my beloved uncle’s favourites, so it’s your turn to spill.”

Stiles straightened up at once and began to sputter in the most comic fashion. “I what you… no way… I just… did not… how could… no way you know that for real...” Finally, he closed his betrayer of a mouth and swore internally at his horrible reaction. If he was going for not guilty, he failed miserably.

Derek smiled, “I told you zero chill, especially under pressure, and I barely even tried.”

Stiles shook his head rapidly like it was broken, like a scratched disc that played the same sound over and over. “How could you possibly know that I only made his favourites?”

“First of all I can smell the apple and cinnamon crumble, secondly you fed me snickerdoodles, the only person who loves those as much as Peter is your dad, if I remember correctly and you’re making them here and not at your house so they can’t possibly be for him. Secondly, If I’m not mistaken I also smell dark chocolate brownies which I’m guessing are still in the oven and about to burn and the only person who likes dark chocolate things is Peter.”

At that Stiles ran over to the oven to pull the brownies out, having forgotten about them when Derek had startled him. Naturally he forgot to grab a mitt and touched the tray with his bare hands causing him to scream curses while getting the mitts to remove the brownies. Derek just shook his head and put more cookies in his mouth. When Stiles finally came back to stand across from him, his hand now wrapped in a cloth with ice cubes folded in its centre, Derek arched a questioning brow at him.

“Last weekend, I might have broken into Peters apartment,” mumbled Stiles. Fortunately being a were’, meant Derek’s enhanced hearing tuned itself when necessary, so he’d had no problem clearly hearing Stiles’ confession.

“How in the hell did you manage that. Peter should have been able to scent you straight away and I think we would all know if my uncle had found you snooping like the Slytherin you so obviously are. An explanation would be very much appreciated.” There was amusement and curiosity in Derek’s eyes. Stiles was surprised about the Slytherin remark. He guessed Derek did listen to him when he went on about his Harry Potter obsession sometimes.

“I used magic,” Stiles admitted, matter-of-factly as if it explained itself.

“Magic?” Derek repeated, incredulously.

“Yep, magic.”

Derek’s head tilted up towards the ceiling as if he were praying to the gods, asking what he must’ve done in a previous life to deserve this and if they would just give him a little patience so as not to kill his friend who despite himself, he actually cared about at this point. Looking back down he said sighing, “Stiles… that’s not even half an explanation.”

“It’s true, I’ve been studying some of Deaton’s druid books. I made a few potions to block my scent and sound, I also did some unlocking spells to get into…things,” explained the teen, unsure of what Derek’s reaction would be, if he told him about the photo album.

“Huh, that… makes sense. You and the magic I mean. You’ve been a Potterhead long enough figure if anyone’s gonna dabble it’d be you.” Derek took another bite then looked up again at Stiles. “I’d ask how you found out where he lived but I probably don’t want to know the answer. Did you at least find something? Are these forgive-me-for-breaking-into-your-apartment baked goods, because I still don’t understand why your trying to soften him up with all this when you’ve already been in his place.”

“I want Peter to actually let me into his apartment willingly, so I thought I could bri… convince him, with his favourite treats later today and if that doesn’t work, I’ll be back tomorrow with more food until he eventually caves, like I know he will.” Stiles sounded rather sure of himself and looked to Derek, like he’d just figured out the intricacies of travelling through time or something monumental like that.

“Good luck with that then but… did you find anything. What was the point of seeing his place if you were going to beg for entry anyway?” Derek’s brow furrowed as he thought about his own words as he said them. It made him suspicious of Stiles and Stiles could read that in his expression and his narrowing eyes.

“I found a photo album in his safe.” Stiles admitted reluctantly.

Derek’s head cocked to a side instantly. “Was it blue?”

“Yep.”

After a few beats of silence, Derek asked worriedly, “It didn’t affect how you feel about Peter, did it?”

Stiles looked at the earnest expression on the wolf’s face and in that moment, felt so grateful for having Derek as a friend. They may have never openly talked about Stiles’ blatant interest in Peter, but it was clear, from his question and the look on his face, that Derek would support Stiles in what ever decision he made.

Feeling the need to move away from the emotional train of thought Stiles was on he quipped, “Don’t worry Derek,” and leaning in so that his face was creepily close and his smile was almost deranged he finished, “I’ll make sure I become your Uncle Stiles, one day.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Noooo,” he groaned as his head fell to the table landing with a dull thud. “Why did I not think of that. The thought of you as my… I can’t even say it. That’s seriously disturbing. I’ve already got a crazy one, I really don’t need another,” he whined; words muffled by the table. The sight of it, the sound, gave Stiles an odd sense of dejavu. It reminded him of himself and he had the thought that once upon a time, the idea of seeing Derek like this would have been laughable. Especially with him being the one to see Derek like that. But here they were. Not only were they very good friends, albeit with a strangely close yet cantankerous relationship, but able to talk about things like Stiles’ romantic interest in his uncle. How time changes everything.

All Stiles could do was laugh.


	6. Peter Does... Sleuthing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First chapter in Peters POV.

To say that Peter Hale was a complicated person who had lived a tragic and devastating life, would be an understatement of gross proportions. There was something of a darkness in him, a darkness he recognized even though he had not known how to deal with it. At first, before the fire, he had spent much of his time denying the existence of that darkness. Pretending it wasn’t there when he could, and channelling it into other avenues when he couldn’t. Avenues like worrying himself over pack affairs and concerning himself with keeping his family, his pack safe.

Back then only two people in his life really knew about that darkness, his sister Talia, who also had been the pack alpha, and his lover, the man of his dreams and the one he had promised himself to, Marcus. Talia had known about his darkness, not simply because she was his sister but because she was gifted with the ability to discern things other people couldn’t. To see past the surface into the hearts of people, to know what they hid behind their faces. And though she knew his darkness, it didn’t mean that she really understood it, or him as much as she might have thought. She accepted him however and often would use responsibility to aid him in redirecting that darkness or keeping it at bay.

Marcus on the other hand, Marcus always saw him and loved him, all of him with a readiness and unquestioning loyalty that inspired Peter. Marcus made Peter feel comfortable talking about the dark parts of him. Marcus helped Peter be free and open enough to share every part of his soul and not feel the need to hide when they were together. It was one of the reasons Peter had loved him so completely. Marcus saw everything and wanted it all. Every ounce of Peter, good and bad with no exception.

He never asked Peter to change who he was. In fact he encouraged Peter to be himself because who he was, was not a bad thing. Sometimes who he was, needed a little refining and perhaps needed to be aimed and fired at the right targets but he wanted Peter to never be ashamed of it. He used to tell Peter that some people were born with things other people weren’t, so that they could accomplish things others couldn’t. Marcus had been his anchor for more than just his wolf but for his darkness as well.

When he’d lost his family, his pack and his Marcus, all of that was gone. He had gone insane. The dark part of him had overwhelmed him and he’d let it, unable to do anything else in his grief and constant despair. Life had become a persistent nightmare and the dark was the only way to cope. He gave in to all his darker impulses and only too late had he woken up from that trauma to see the horrible things he had done.

After somewhat regaining himself, a fraction of his sanity, he had had to put on a mask around everyone. He could never simply be, not the way he had been before with his family and especially with Marcus. He amplified the aloof, cynical, sarcastic and cruel persona everyone already believed he was and hid his vulnerabilities behind that mask he wore and never took it off.

Except when he was at home in his apartment secluded and safe, to let the walls down. His apartment was a haven for him. It was a place where he didn’t have to hide who he was, shield his emotions from his so-called pack, or pretend that he didn’t care about anyone and anything but himself. It held his most prized book collection, although not all of it, and most of his expensive collection of vintage comics he’d been compiling for most of his life. Something he’d been relieved had survived the fire.

It’s the first place he felt he could call home since the fire, which destroyed his entire world, turning him into a shell of his former self. He felt that he was a little better, now that he had returned to a semblance of his old life, mostly reconciled with his nephew, though that was still a work in progress, and had created a den for himself. He was content, mostly.

Peter was coming home from a job, one that had taken him across the country, so that he had been gone for a few days. He was glad to be returning to his sanctuary and eager to close himself inside and be surrounded by the familiar scents and things that made his place a home for him. However, walking up the corridor he felt _off_. Not a hundred percent sure it wasn’t just his imagination, he carried on towards his door, luggage in hand. When he reached the weathered white door of his home, he knew something was wrong.

Steeling his emotions and readying himself for anything, he put his bags next to the door, so they were out of the way in case of a fight. The old rusted hinges creaked as he opened the door. At first, all he could see was the darkness of his apartment. Tapping into his wolf, he flashed his eyes and half shifted so he could not only see better but also to be ready for anything. He was all too wary of the shadow of chaos that seemed to follow the Hales around wherever they went, as if the universe or God wasn’t happy unless there was at least one Hale in pain in the world. Cautiously, Peter walked into his apartment.

There were no hushed or desperately concealed breaths and no heart beats. He knew of course, that it didn’t necessarily mean he was alone, but he relaxed a bit, turning on the lights cautiously. The first thing he checked was his bookshelves but they revealed nothing out of the ordinary. No books or adornments had been moved. Stealthily, he slipped into his bedroom, yanked the wardrobe door open and reached for the wicker basket behind his locked safe, to see if his precious comics were untouched.

He opened the lid and flicked through the comics ensure none were missing. They were all there. At least the ones he kept at home were all there. He opted to keep some of the more expensive editions of his collection locked up in the Hale vault. That did not mean however, that if someone had stolen the ones here, he wouldn’t have still hunted them down and made them beg for death.

Despite the fact that his collection was incredibly precious to him, it was the principle of the thing. Besides he had a reputation to maintain and protect. If people just went around stealing from Peter Hale well, what would stop others from thinking they shouldn’t fear him. Belatedly, it occurred to Peter that a thief who didn’t know him at all probably wouldn’t break in for books and comics. Those things, however, were what he valued most in his apartment, besides the peace and isolation it offered.

Returning to the situation at hand, he finished a cursory investigation of his apartment and once satisfied, retrieved his luggage from the front door. He hauled them into the living room, then turned back to look down the empty corridor warily. Most people would call him a paranoid fool, but they couldn’t possibly understand how much it had helped him in the past.

Every pack had three levels of authority. The alpha stood at the head of the pack, the absolute commander in all things with complete and total authority over all members. The head beta, which was commonly known in the supernatural world, was a beta appointed by the alpha to lead the other betas as something of a lieutenant. This person stood third in line in terms of authority. The less known position, often maintained as a secret for protection and to grant the ability for that person to work often without resistance from others, second only to the alpha, was the left hand.

The left hand of the alpha was often a position given to a sibling who due to bloodlines and birth orders would never inherit the alpha power, at least not unless their sibling and their siblings children were all killed. Or, if they themselves murdered their sibling for the power. It was a way to afford that sibling respect and power within the pack, while maintaining the hierarchy and order. It also had the effect of bringing family together as opposed to creating rivals of siblings who may end up trying to kill each other for the power of the alpha.

In the case of the Hale family, Talia had been the first born and destined to be the alpha by birth and blood. Peter who had come second and quite a while after his sister, had become her left hand. Working as Talia’s left hand, lead him to become a cautious untrusting person, especially around his family and towards their safety. It was probably why he blamed himself more than anyone else, apart from the psychotic and traitorous bitch Kate, for the fire. He should have known that there was a threat to the pack, it was his job, his purpose in life and the only reason he was ever born. Or at least, that was how he had always felt before everything went to shit.

In his mind, Peter understood he was an accident, born late in his parents’ lives. His youngest years had been over shadowed by Laura, the future alpha of the pack. He was overlooked, an isolating thing, but for him as a future left hand, destined to be the avenging angel and bloody hand of retribution, judgement and defence, that was more fitting than it was uncomfortable. One of the things he had had to learn as a left hand, was how to kill without being plagued by emotions like compassion and guilt; to put his empathy into a box inside himself and act with cold calculation. When it came to pack and the threats to pack he had to put everything into two categories, hunter and hunted, predator and prey, us and them. He had learned his lessons well.

The first time he’d killed, he’d only been fourteen. A feral harpy had gone on a rampage through the preserve. It had already succeeded in injuring one of his pack members when he’d found the beast. That was enough to damn the creature in his eyes and he hadn’t needed to gain his sister’s kill order to know what had to be done. It was a testament to his training as a left hand. Training administered by an old family friend, a left hand herself who had come out of retirement to be his mentor. Peter had quickly and ruthlessly ripped the harpy’s throat open with his claws, causing blood to splatter all over the front of his clothes.

That had only been the first of many confrontations where he’d had to act as enforcer and executioner of any and all threats to the pack and his sister’s rule. He'd been protecting his pack and destroying their enemy for so long, after the fire he had no other goal except just that. Though once he’d come out of that hospital, the lines between protecting pack and avenging pack had been so blurred, nothing could stand in the way of his revenge.

Another by-product of being a left hand was a much more acute sense of smell, on a much grander scale. An average wolf would not notice the subtle hint of magic in the air but a left hand, trained to discern scent as well as the lack of scent and the causes for both in most circumstances would. Magic of course didn’t necessarily carry a scent of it’s own, but magic would explain the lack of anything scent related in the environment, especially when Peter was intimately familiar with the particular scents of his own den. A clearly powerful magic user had been here, in his home, his _Den_.

So, it was understandable that Peter’s gut reaction to this revelation, was to hire a van and pack up all the necessary shit he required so he could move to some undisclosed location, untainted by the intrusion of magic users who did not value his privacy. However, Peter had spent so much time building somewhere he could feel safe, somewhere that he could call home, that he really didn’t want to move. There was only one option then, to slaughter whoever had been in his Den.

* * *

Peter had a plan, obviously. He wouldn’t be him if he didn’t. The wolf had considered protective measures for his den when he moved in for instances just like this. He had first considered cameras in his home but disregarded them as he wouldn’t want private footage of himself getting into the hands of others. Thanks to a well placed and probably entirely selfish investment based on control issues, he did own the building and thus had access to the lobby cameras and those that monitored the stairwells and hallways.

After locking his front door, he walked down towards the security office, where the tapes were stored. He walked slowly, maintaining a steady gait to show that nothing was wrong. He even smiled kindly at Mrs. James, the elderly English were’ and old family friend, who lived in the apartment below him, when she was heading up to her home.

When he got to the security room, he was glad to see that the camera footage was clearly labelled making it easy to see which ones he would need. Because he had no clue when his space was invaded by the magic user, it meant that Peter would have to look through days worth of footage, a task he wasn’t keen on and had little patience for. After all he had much more important matters to attend to; such as putting up wards in his den and reluctantly adding cameras in his apartment.

He did however, being himself, the resident master of plans within plans, have a solution. Taking the relevant security tapes in his arms, he went back to the elevator and rode it to the floor below his. He went towards the door furthest down the corridor, knocked twice and waited patiently for the door to open.

Mrs. James opened the door with an intrigued smile on her face with it’s deceptively few hints of old age starting to peak through. “Peter dear, what brings you to my home?” she asked and then leaning in conspiratorially, she said in a lower yet amused voice, “Did you kill anyone and need help burying the body? I’m not sure I would be much help anymore, back’s not what it used to be, sadly.”

Peter, with an expression that was the epitome of innocence, gasped with considerable drama, one hand hitting his chest in mock outrage, “How would you even ask that. I’ve never buried a body in all my life. You must be losing it in your old age, Addie d _ear._ Though no one could tell just by looking at you.”

“Werewolf ageing is terribly deceptive dear, causes me so much trouble when I try to get on the senior citizens line at the bank.”

“I bet it does,” Peter agrees.

The woman just laughs lightly at him, used to his special brand of sarcasm and their witty repartee. Adeline beckoned him forward and into her home before walking to the kitchen to make some tea. Peter quietly entered and moved to seat himself on her overstuffed, floral sofa, comfortable in the familiar room.

Over the dying sound of steam escaping the kettle, Adeline called out, “So, if not help with a body, what do you need Peter? I do enjoy your visits, but you seem quite agitated and I’m intrigued to find out what’s caused it. I’m presuming its to do with those discs you’ve got in your hands.” Peter was reassured, he’d made the right choice by her observation. She was very old despite her appearance and she had been retired from pack life and her history as a left hand for some time. She had also been Peter’s own mentor all those years ago when he had begun training to be left hand to Talia.

She had come out of retirement as a favour to the family to train Peter, and that had been a long time ago, when he was still just a child. Yet, her skills in observation had hardly waned, considering how she determined what he was carrying, when the discs he’d taken had been placed into three large brown envelopes.

“Yes,” he began, voice growing hard now that he thought about why he’d come. “My den’s been… infiltrated,” He hears Mrs. James stop for a moment in surprise as she hears the confession from the were’, her emotions briefly flaring into anger knowing what Peter was currently feeling from personal experience. Peter went on, “I have need of your time, if you would be amenable. It shouldn’t affect your normal routine too much if that’s a problem.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unaccustomed to asking for help.

Mrs. James stopped what she was doing in the kitchen to come and sit next to Peter. Her instinct led her to want to reach out and hold his hand, but she stopped herself, knowing Peter’s aversion to touch. “You know I would help you with anything you needed, Peter. I understand how unsafe you must feel right now, and I’m pleased you felt you could confide in me.”

Peter leaned back in the seat and sighed, head laying on the back of the sofa. “I was so focussed on how to get revenge and kill the bastard who broke into my home that I forgot to think about that. It seems to be a theme of mine, only thinking about revenge and nothing else. Funny.” He gave a weak self-deprecating smile to the woman.

“What do you need me to do, dear?”

“I need you to go through these tapes for me,” he stated, passing over envelopes he’d brought up from security. “They’re from the cameras in the front lobby, stairwells and halls. It was a magic user, I’m sure of it and they most probably came through that way. I know it might be a waste of time but it’s the only lead I have.”

She nodded as he spoke understanding his need and silently agreeing that it would be worth looking at. Peter went on “While you do that, I thought I would add some wards and a few cameras in my apartments. I probably should have done that in the first place. Once I’m done, I’ll take the rest of the tapes off you and finish watching whatever you don’t get to. Though maybe you’ll find them by the time I next see you, one can only hope.”

“Not a problem dear, easy enough to get done. Go do what you need to do.” Peter thanked her to which she insisted it was no trouble as she ushered him back to the door. They parted with Adeline giving him a reassuring smile which Peter returned with a poorly constructed smile of his own. 

Over the next two days, Peter had thrown himself into a dedicated outfitting of wards and surveillance in his apartment. He’d had to search the Hale vault for effective wards against magic users that wolves could manage without help. This proved a lot more complicated than he had anticipated and he had had to go through several frustrating attempts before he had achieve any kind of satisfactory result.

By the time he was done though, he had been as sure as he could be that were magic users to come into his place uninvited there would be a few rudimentary and unpleasant surprises to force them right back out. Also he would be alerted to the presence of someone in his den who was not welcome.

The surveillance cameras had been a much easier setup than the wards. Halfway through setting them up, in a manner that made him feeling like an overlord or evil genius, he found himself seriously questioning why he had not done this sooner. The controls and monitor were in a well hidden secret room of his apartment and he could connect his equipment to his cell phone to give him access anywhere and anytime. The joys of technology in the modern age.

Begrudgingly, he had slept in a hotel, knowing how unsettled his wolf would be until he killed the intruder. Hotels were places most werewolves avoided like the plague. The public accommodations were alright for humans, but for wolves who could smell with an intensity that might make the average human sick it was no walk in the park. Or perhaps it was a walk in the park, if the park smelled like various bodily fluids, ass and strange mixtures of unfamiliar and unappealing toiletries. Certainly they were a far cry from the comforting smells of _home_ and _pack_. Under the circumstances though Peter had to suffer through the hardship of the sensory assault, unsure of who had been in his home, what they wanted and if they would come back.

He’d returned to Mrs. James’ apartment after his two days of turning his home into a fortress of sorts, and was greeted by Addie at the door, still in her old fashioned, yet expensive looking silk pyjamas. 

“Peter, "she said kindly, her face already warming with no hint of having just woken evident.

“Hello Addie.”

“I trust your house is in order?” she asked as she stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

“As much as it can be under the circumstances,” he replied walking in with a familiarity and comfort he could only express in her presence.

“Have you eaten, maybe you’d like a few scones, I made them fresh this morning.” Without waiting for a response she moved briskly into the kitchen to get some while calling over her shoulder that she would put the tea on. In moments she returned with a platter of scones a few sausages and an egg that she managed scramble in no time.

She placed the platter in front of him on the center table, in front of the couch where he was sitting. Before Peter could protest she disappeared again to bring the tea she had gotten started. “Just eat your breakfast Peter Hale, you can’t convince me that a wolf isn’t often hungry and you also cannot convince me that you have already had your breakfast for the day. I don’t smell any food on you, except for something disgustingly sweet that couldn’t possibly pass for valid breakfast fare.”

Peter closed the mouth he had opened to tell her that none of that was necessary. He relented and picked up the plate to quickly eat the contents which he was grudgingly thankful for. He hadn’t in fact eaten anything and he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating the food he was given.

Addie came back into her parlour with two saucers with tea cups on them and placed one in front of Peter and one in front of herself. She disappeared once more but returned much quicker carrying a laptop. Peter eyed her, with interest as he hurried to finish the food and set the plate aside.

“You have something for me?” he asked hopeful.

“Indeed I do dear,” Addie intoned as she set the laptop down and opened up a video player. With a clip already cued up. “I searched through hours of footage choosing to start from when you returned instead of when you left. I suspected that in order for you to sense the residual magic in your apartment it was very possible that the intruder had to have cast their spells relatively soon to your return. Luckily this spared me searching for days rather than hours. I found a curious young man who entered the lobby a few days ago. There is no camera which has a view of your front door but according to the surveillance, he is the only one who is not a tenant that gets off on your floor.”

Addie moved to play the video and watched Peter as he looked it over. By his expression, she could see that he did indeed recognize the young man in the clip. “Of course I did a minor search of the lobby for any other viable options but I recognize everyone else who entered and left. Everyone except for him.” She paused the video she was playing catching Stiles’ face at a perfect angle to completely make him out. “Of course this isn’t the most damning of evidence but it is highly suggestive. And it appears you may know this young man.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he continued to stare in irritation and confusion. Peter was no fool, despite what some of his past actions might suggest to some. He knew any idiot in his position would see that the magic user who had infiltrated his home may very well be Stiles Stilinski. Stiles was someone Peter knew well, and often disregarded as a threat.

However that, as Peter had learned over time might be a mistake. Stiles had a ruthless streak in him, and knowing him even better now, Peter wouldn’t put it past Stiles to harm him if he’d done anything violent towards his beloved friends. However, Peter knew he hadn’t done anything nefarious to any of his nephew’s pack, so why would Stiles do this?

Curiosity? Boredom? Precaution? He doubted, without hearing it from the boy, he’d ever figure it out. It was a testament to Stiles unpredictability. He did have attention deficit disorder after all.

“Who is he dear, it’s obvious you recognize him?” Peter was sitting very still, caught in his ruminations. 

He turned to Addie, “He’s in the my nephew’s Pack. When I was an alpha I asked him if he wanted the bite. He declined. I knew he had a spark but I didn’t know he’d been training. I know Alan wouldn’t do it so he must be training himself.”

“Is he a threat, though?” Addie queried speculatively, only a hint of veiled danger in her tone.

“I don’t know. I’ve learnt to never underestimate him. He’s ruthless when protecting the people, he loves, I know that from experience. Stiles... when I killed Kate, he was the one who threw the Molotov Cocktail that set me on fire.” Peter smiled, almost as if he were amused now and somewhat admiring the remembered act. “I don’t hold it against him though, I was… unhinged.”

She looked at him curiously, “I can see why you wanted him to be a wolf. I am surprised you asked, though. As you say, you were quite insane and didn’t ask for the McCall boy’s permission.”

“Stiles is… special. I wanted him to be willing. It was the first moment I thought of having a Beta for a pack. Not just a Beta for helping with the Argents.”

“Do you think he may try to poison you?”

Peter turned to stare at her frowning. It was a very peculiar and very specific question. “What makes you ask that?”

“Well I should also say that I ran into this young man sitting outside your door while you were staying at the hotel. He claimed he’d brought you baked goods and indeed I smelled a cornucopia of delicious treats. They actually smelled quite good but considering the job you tasked me with, I was highly suspicious.”

“What! What did he say?”

“He only asked after you, I told him you were away and that I wasn’t sure when you’d be returning.”

Peter thought for a moment and nodded. “I don’t know that Stiles could poison me. He doesn’t really like that’s his thing. He’s more of a bat wielding type. He’d probably try the Harry Potter death spell a couple times before realizing that that shit doesn’t actually work in real life.”

“Harry Potter?” Addie repeated with a furrowed brow.

“He has a weird obsession,” Peter explained.

“I find it curious that you even know such details about this young man,” she replied speculatively, her watchful eyes almost intimidating in their intensity. Peter’s mouth opened then closed, unsure of how to respond. “Well you did say he’s a special one, I imagine that also makes him quite memorable. What are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that he’s not an immediate threat. I suspect he’ll seek me out again and I’ll be waiting.”

He turned to look at his old mentor, “Thank you for your help. I’ll update you as soon as I have anything.”

As Peter began to gather his things and open the door to leave, Addie was behind him calling out his name.

“Wait, Peter,” he turned around to look at the older wolf, “When I finished training you to be the left hand, I-I never said how proud of you I was. You did so well, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. It was never your fault for not figuring it out, no one would have. They – _she_ – was good at what she did. It was never your fault, even though I know you won’t ever believe me.”

Peter sighed, looking at the woman appreciation for the kindness she was trying to show even though, as she said, he couldn’t believe her words to be true. “It doesn’t matter. They’re all dead. _She’s_ dead. I should have figured it out and I know that, Addie. This is all meaningless. Blaming myself less won’t bring them back.”

“Dear boy, blaming yourself more won’t bring them back either.”

The side of his mouth twitched into the parody of a half-smile, as if to say touché, they couldn’t voice the concession. “Bye Adeline, thank you for your help. I appreciated it, really.”

“Peter…” she tried, but he was already briskly walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed. This was the longest chapter yet am I know I'm pretty proud. Hopefully Desi's proud too.  
> If you want to see more Steter go check out my new-ish one-shot called Burning House.  
> Thnx


	7. Stiles Does... The First Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, finally an update. First of 2021!

Stiles had envisioned this going so many ways.

Either something dreadful like Peter violently opening the door, anger in his stubbled face, then snatching the baked goods from Stiles’ shaking hands, and finally slamming the door – leaving Stiles in a stunned state.

Or, on the flip side, if Stiles was an optimistic person, he’d hope Peter would open the door, smile on his face, then run out of his home embracing Stiles in a tight, warm hug, that would lead to feeding each other with Stiles’ sweet treats, heated stares, licking of lips, followed by hot steaming sex on Peters utterly soft mattress, and with any luck, many other surfaces around the apartment.

So, it was understandable when Stiles stood outside Peter’s apartment expecting some reaction after he had knocked, and was left with the deafening sound of silence, that he was suitably feeling put out.

So, Stiles, using all of his Gryffindor stubbornness, knocked again – loudly.

Nada, Zilch, Zip.

However, Stiles was a patient guy when he wanted to be. It was a very particular brand of patience that others might recognize for being stubborn, so he sat outside Peters door for a while.

By half an hour, Stiles was starting to get worried the food had gone cold and he was guessing Peter was not actually in unless he was extremely dedicated to ignoring visitors or Stiles was just an idiot, who knew? Maybe Derek? He always told Stiles when he was being an idiot. That was how Stiles ended up calling Derek, while sitting outside an obviously empty apartment with cold baked goods.

Stiles just sat, tapping his legs with his fingers, while he boredly waited as the phone rang, patiently waiting for the sour wolf to answer.

“Stiles? What’s wrong? Are you still at Peter’s? Did he do something? Do you need me to pick you up? Wait, you took your jeep so why… did your jeep break down? Stiles?” Stiles was just smiling at the concern he felt from his friend. Also it occurred to him and not for the first time, that the run on way with which Derek asked a hundred questions without pausing for an answer, was distinctly Stiles-like in its delivery. It amused him to think on how much he was rubbing off on the alpha. “I’m alright Derek, I actually haven’t seen Peter yet.”  
He could hear the worry seep out of the were’, “Why haven’t you come back if he’s not home then?”

“I wanted to wait to see if he’d come back. The foods probably- nah definitely gone cold by now. This hasn’t gone the way I wanted it to. Any idea what I should- “

Stiles abruptly pulled the phone down from his ear when he heard footsteps from his right, down the cream coloured corridor. There was an elderly woman, hair slightly greying from dark blonde, standing ominously, not doing anything, just staring.

“Um… hi. Do you live in the building?” Stiles felt unsettled under the fierceness of her gaze.

“Yes. Are you waiting for someone, Dear?” The English accent surprised Stiles for a second but he soon gathered his swirling thoughts.

“Yeah, uh do you know Peter Hale by any chance? He lives here,” Stiles called gesturing with a pointing thumb to the apartment door behind him, “and I was  
waiting for him to get back from wherever he’s gone off to. I baked him food, all his favourites, and I wanted to give him it... them… the food I mean, but he’s not here.”

“Mr. Hale owns the building, so yes, I do, as a matter of fact, know him.”

“Oh. Right. Do you know where he is then?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

“No.” The mysterious woman began to turn away, though her gaze barely wavered from Stiles. Abruptly Stiles remembered the wolf still on hold and possibly listening through the phone. He lifted it halfway to his ear before calling back to the retreating woman.

“O-ok, then. Um, Could I possibly catch your name, maybe?”

She turned back to face him squarely, seeming to contemplate answering. “Adeline James. Yours?”

“Stiles Stilinski.” the way he said it made his name almost a question. Jeez the woman made him nervous and all for just being there with the silent watchfulness of a stalking wolf and the quiet danger that he equated specifically with Peter. Weird.

Adeline made a slight noise of acknowledgement towards the boy, “Any relations with the Sheriff, child?”

“I’m not actually a child anymore,” he retorted indignantly before catching himself and adding a ‘thankfully,’ on the end to soften his response. Then he went on, ‘but yes, my dad’s the sheriff.”

She nodded and walked away without another word. Stiles pulled the phone back up to his ear, “Derek? You still there, buddy?”

“I’m here.”

“Do you know what just happened? That was freaky, right? Like Peter level Creepy and that’s saying something.”

Derek just huffed out a strangled laugh, “Funny you should say that. You just met the woman who taught Peter his creeping ways. She’s a wolf. Addie used to be the left hand for her family in England, I think, but came here to train the Hale pack’s new left hand when my grandmother died as she was the previous one and couldn’t finish teaching Peter herself.”

“What’s she doing here then?” Stiles asked lowering his voice slightly, in case of any wolfy ears listening.

“I don’t know. All I know is that she left to go back to London a few years after the fire. She… she was there with Peter while he was in his coma but had to leave to go back to England.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

They both understood that one of the factors that lead to Peter waking up from the coma and going on a feral murder spree was due to the fact that he had no pack to heal him and feeling the loss of so many members of his family cut deep and left a permanent scar.

“Do you think he knows that I broke in? Is he going to kill me?”

“He won’t kill you.”

“How would you know?”

“Look, Peter likes you. Even when he was mostly insane, he still wanted you in his pack and saw that you were so much more than any of us idiots thought. You told me about when he offered you the bite, he wouldn’t do that for just anyone. If Peter does know you broke in, he’d probably applaud you on your ingenuity. Don’t worry too much.”

Stiles sighed and nodded absent mindedly. They both said their goodbyes and Stiles began to pace along the corridor, wondering if he should just leave or stay In front of the apartment he knew Peter was not in. Foolishly, or stubbornly, though at that point the two weren’t mutually exclusive, he chose the latter.

Of course, this soon proved itself to be the wrong choice. A few hours later and poor Stiles was still left sitting alone in front of Peter’s, closed door. The only entertainment were the few games he’d had on his phone, though quickly they’d become boring, as did the rubber band he had found in his pocket.

Deciding to give up, Stiles just sat a little while longer, contemplating his life choices. However, not long after, his phone began to ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s Derek.” 

“Oh. Hey Derek. Did you need something?”

“Stiles, your dad called me… he wanted to ask if you were at the loft. Clearly you’re not, so, why aren’t you home?”

Not knowing how to tell the wolf that he was still waiting, pathetically, for his uncle to return home, the brunette said nothing. The exasperated sigh of Derek’s reply made Stiles cringe slightly.

“Stiles… please don’t tell me you’re still at his apartment.”

“I’m definitely not still at the apart…. Psshhh why would you even think something like that- you know how pathetic I’d have to be to...” He began his voice rising from a mid alto to a a surprisingly high soprano as he went on getting it all out in one breath.

“Stiles...” Derek cut him off, in the groaning grating way his deep voice had of accusing, berating and pleading with Stiles to cut the bullshit all in one.

“Yeah I’m still at the apartment,”

“Just go home Stiles.”

“Yes, Derek.” Hanging up, Stiles picked back up the cold food and headed back to the Jeep. Prepared to come back tomorrow.  
Just Stiles’ luck, his Jeep wouldn’t start.

Great, he thought with a roll of his eyes and mild irritation.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hey, Derek-”

“What Stiles?”

“Um. Theoretically, if the Jeep wasn’t starting, would you be willing to pick me up?” Stiles asked, hesitantly, shuffling his feet on the pavement.

“Fine.” He hung up.

Thoroughly over this day, Stiles climbed back in the Jeep, opened up the container of the apple and cinnamon crumble and proceeded to eat it with his fingers. Of course! Just Stiles’ luck again, when he turned his head, there was a suitably bemused Derek Hale looking into his car.

Cursing himself for not paying attention, Stiles slowly rolled down his window, “Derek.”

Clearly trying not to smile, Derek replied, “Stiles.”

“It’s been a long day, dude. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you… too much.” Letting out small but frustratingly manly giggles all the way back, he led them to the camaro.

Stiles cleaned up his fingers as best as he could, picked up his things and got into Derek’s car.

“What do we do about the Jeep?”

“I already called a tow-truck.”

“Great.” Stiles leaned his head against the window.

He couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

\------------------------

After a good long sleep, Stiles had regained his confidence and he felt a new sense of determination.

The food from yesterday, while mostly fine, was missing the key component, his apple cinnamon crumble. The same crumble he’d eaten the day before to sooth his bruised heart at having failed to engage with Peter. So he popped over to the loft to remake it before he headed to Peter’s apartment building, hoping against all hope that it wouldn’t be a ground-hog day.

Again, he found himself waiting outside Peter’s apartment for the one and only Hale. Luckily, the wait wasn’t too long unlike last time, as a perfectly dressed Peter Hale walked down the long corridor, arms behind his back, showing no signs of surprise at the unexpected presence of Stiles. He walked closer, eventually standing only a few feet from the younger man.

“Stiles.”

“Peter.”

Stiles went on twitching in the silence, “How are you?”

“Pleasantries Stiles?” he asked, smirk formed and brow arching, but still not showing any other emotion besides slight amusement – possibly a small amount of curiosity.

“Sometimes it’s best to slowly ease into things when you’re speaking to someone.”

“Well, a little birdy told me that you were here yesterday, waiting for me, for a very long time. You might as well come in, wouldn’t want you to have a repeat of yesterday,” smirk growing even more as Stiles failed to hide an embarrassed blush. Peter opened the door wide and gestured for Stiles to precede him. Blush contained; Stiles hurried inside.

The younger man was surprise at the ease with which the wolf allowed Stiles into his den, knowing how protective and territorial they are of them. He quickly remembered when Derek first bought the pack house how pissy Derek would be if anyone went into his bedroom, although that might’ve just been a Derek thing.

The apartment was exactly the same as it was when he was last here. However, with Peter hopefully not knowing he had broken in, Stiles made a show of looking around and asking a few questions.

Peter just smirked and proceeded to enter the bedroom, leaving the door widely ajar behind him almost tempting Stiles to try to enter. He didn’t.

When the wolf came back out, Stiles handed over the baked goods he had baked earlier and took in the breath-taking smile that appeared on Peter’s face after he had smelt exactly what Stiles had made, though the smile quickly turned into a frown.

“You baked my favourites.” Peter said sceptically, head tilting aside speculatively.

“No, I baked raisin oatmeal cookies, the ones I know you are allergic to. Duh, obviously I baked your favourites.” Stiles rolled his eyes at the wolf, while slumping on the sofa and putting his feet up on the coffee table.

“I’m going to kill him.” he exclaimed after realising how Stiles must have found out about his allergy.

“Don’t worry, he only told me, so I didn’t inadvertently kill you. Though I wonder how werewolf allergies even work. Wouldn’t you just heal yourself?”

“It’s complicated,” was all Peter offered. He eyed Stiles a while longer then, walking over towards Stiles with the baked goods in hand, Peter sat down next to him, probably slightly closer than necessary and began to open the box containing his favourite of the bunch, Stiles’ apple and cinnamon crumble that he had fallen in love with at first bite.

However, Peter soon realised he didn’t have any cutlery and peters reluctance to get up, lead him to using his fingers as a spoon. In his delight or what looked more like pure ecstasy at consuming the crumble, Peter seemed to forget Stiles was right there next to him.

Stiles found himself holding his breath as he tried to be as still and as quiet as possible. He watched Peter next to him, eating the crumble the same way he did, nearly mirroring his actions, all except for the look of bliss on his face and it was an erotic intimacy Stiles felt they shared. Like Peter was being the him of yesterday and the Stiles of Yesterday had been the Peter of today and they were now joined together in their mutual act of eating his treats. This particular treat, in the same fashion.

Suddenly Stiles became very aware of the hardening in his pants and shortly after that the trickle of wetness he could feel making moist warm spots where his boxers stuck to his thigh, pulled free by the jerking of his firming penis and then stuck again. He didn’t bother adjusting himself, far too engrossed in watching Peter’s glistening fingers, slick from penetrating his own mouth where it became coated with his saliva.

Stiles couldn’t get over the sick pleasure of thinking about Peter continuously Putting something Stiles had made, something Stiles gave him and for all intents and purposes, a piece of Stiles into his mouth, into himself, over and over again. It made Stiles’ throat dry even as his mouth salivated.

In his mind Peter’s fingers were something else and that something continued to go in and out of his mouth until Stiles could feel the sympathetic tug behind his own navel and his lower body tensed as if he himself were going to climax. He let out a small shuddering sigh and bit his lip so hard he could have drawn blood.

After a good portion of the crumble had been devoured, Peter leaned his head back into the sofa, basked in the satisfaction and pride coming from the boy next to him, clearly proud that he brought the wolf to this sate of pleasure.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Obviously.” Peter gave him and only then noticed another sharper scent amidst those of emotions. It was the scent of arousal and precum. Quickly his eyes flashed down to Stiles jeans. There was a distinctly darker blue spot on the crotch. “Seem like you did too,” Peter said looking back up at Stiles face to find him turning a cherry pink.

Stiles just chuckled nervously and leaned back as well, mimicking Peter. For a moment Stiles could just pretend they were more than friends. Lovers relaxing together in their apartment, just being happy in each other’s company.

Sadly, the moment was ruined by Peter whacking Stiles on the head.

“Hey! What was that for?” he reached for the back of his stinging scalp.

“That was for breaking into my apartment.”

Eyes wide and arms flailing about, Stiles spluttered, words seeming to be lodged in his throat turning from blatant denial to a more coherent stream of confession, “h-how… whaa. I-I did EVERYTHING I could think of to make sure you never knew. I broke into my dad’s office; I spent an entire day reading trying to find spells and potions - MAGICK for God’s sake. I become a miniature Snape so you‘d never know! How the actually fucking fuck did you find out?”

“Potions and spells are dangerous, Stiles-”

“I know, Deaton said” Stiles replied, huffing, and lying back against the sofa.

“Did you listen?”

“…no”

Shifting in his seat, Stiles eyes stayed looking at the ground, worried at Peters reaction.

“Aren’t you going to yell at me or something? Hit me? Rip my throat out?”

“I don’t particularly feel like hitting or killing you, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. Peter clearly caught him but didn’t seem to be showing his reaction.

“I’m sorry.”

The wolf turned to Stiles and let out a sigh, an exasperated but fond look on his face, “No you’re not, but that’s ok. I’m not sure why you did it and I have no idea what you hoped to find but I know you wouldn’t do it maliciously. It was also pretty impressive that you managed to get in undetected at all. I actually had to watch security feeds to find you.” The last bit was added with something akin to awe in his tone. And the near approval made Stiles want to preen. Stiles was speechless once again.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the wolf asked, turning his head back to the ceiling.

“Not sure, really,” he offered, scared to give up the knowledge of just what he’d found. Swallowing his hesitation and his pride, he sighed and went on, speaking as much from his open heart as he could muster. “I just wanted to get to know you, but you never seem to let anyone get close enough. Not that I blame you with your history.” The moment of complete honesty took Peter aback and before he could stop himself he found himself responding in kind.

“I don’t let many people in, but I might have tried to let you in Stiles. You just had to ask.”

“Ok,” Stiles began, eyes going distant for a moment as he ordered his next thoughts. “I’m asking now.” Stiles said getting up and pulling his knees under him so that he knelt on the couch facing Peter fully. Peter who continued to lean back into his seat and stare upward as if finding most fascinating the study of his ceiling. Stiles had a feeling though that the longer Peter kept looking away from him the easier it would be for Peter to speak to him this way. He was obviously more than unaccustomed to being this open, “I’m asking you to stay after pack meetings. To not leave before they’ve even finished. I’m asking you to share your secret love of comics with me, cuz I love them too and maybe we could even go in a public place together once in a while and-”

“What do you want from me Stiles?” Peter said, abruptly butting into Stiles mini rant. His voice wasn’t harsh but questing and maybe a little weary.

“What? I just told you what I wanted.”

Sitting up, Peter shook his head, “No I mean, what do you want out of this Stiles?” His hand gestured between the two, “Friendship? Something less, more? You clearly have put a lot of effort into this whole...thing. Learning a bunch of spells and potions from Deaton, Deaton; Literally breaking the law by breaking into my apartment and possibly leading to your Dad having to arrest you; Spending the entire day yesterday sitting alone outside my apartment waiting for someone who you weren’t even sure would actually turn up. Then you come back here today, clearly after baking even more, I doubt all of this is left over and possibly ending up having a repeat of yesterday,” Peter rubbed his eyes, emotions ranging from confusion and frustration to exasperation. He turned to look Stiles in the eyes, “You went above and beyond for me. Why?”

“Because I like you, dumbass,” muttered Stiles.

“You like me?” Peter said with a substantial amount of disbelief. He said the word as if he were inspecting it with his tongue.

“Yes, is that so hard to believe? You have a lot of amazing qualities, at least to me. I like your wit and sarcasm which for some reason goes so well with mine. Your ability to keep up with me intellectually, and how, unlike a lot of my friends, including my best friend, you actually listen to me. Also, the fact that you are very clearly devoted to your family, in your own way. Those are all things I admire about you.” Somehow, Stiles’ body leaned even closer until the ends of his knees were touching Peter’s thigh. The contact felt in it’s simplicity and innocence felt extravagant to Stiles and for a moment he thought, if they could stay there like that unmoving, just maintaining that fraction of contact he would be happy not to say another word.

Peter’s eyes fell to where their bodies connected. The warmth of Stiles’ body against his, grazing his just so was a burn on his skin. Like a fire you wanted to be consumed by if only to escape the cold that was everything not Stiles. Looking up again slowly, Peter just sort of stared passively at Stiles, looking for all the world like he wanted to move but he was scared to. Or maybe Stiles wondered, he felt the same, and simply hoped to preserve the moment in silence and stillness. 

“So you want to what... date me?” He said it incredulously like the idea was far-fetched and silly and immediately fractured the moment.

The younger man rolled his eyes, exasperated and a little angry. Only a little but more than enough to fuel the next thing he said, which was as unguarded and as honest as anything he could say. “Peter, if I thought you were emotionally stable, let alone available, for a relationship, I would gladly jump on that horse, but you said it yourself, when you woke up from the coma it felt like no time had passed at all, that means that not too long ago, you lost your husband and your entire future with him. If I thought you had moved past your grief for him, for any of your family, I would gladly date you, if it was what you wanted but that, right now, is not the case. I think that you just need a friend, currently, and I’ll happily be th...” Stiles trailed when he noticed the stunned expression on Peter’s face. It was the most emotion he had probably ever seen the man display and all too quickly he realized his slip.

“Husband-” Peter choked out in a whisper. “How did you-” Then the light of understanding dawned in his eyes before becoming eclipsed by a quiet rage and a deep hurt he tried to mask. “So, you did find what you were looking for,” his words were strained, like he was trying to talk through a clenched jaw. “That album was private.” He got to his feet and Stiles knew he had fucked up.

“Peter I-” he tried but the other man cut him off quickly.

“I think you should go,” he said. And it was the softness of his words which were the scariest part. That controlled seething rage Stiles could feel was staggering.

Scrambling to his feet Stiles tried to speak but before he could utter a word Peter’s voice dropped another deadly octave. “Now!” It was worse than if the man had yelled. Stiles may be stubborn and an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. Quickly he gathered his things and headed for the door. Stopping in the frame, he turned back, “I didn’t mean to go through it. I didn’t know what it was. And maybe you hate me for it now, for knowing, but I’m not sorry I found it. I just wanna be there for you. To be what you need. You sacrifice so much, you always have I think, so much that it became your job to suffer for everyone else. I just wanted to be what you needed. For once.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying or what you’re doing. My life is none of your business so stay out of it.” The words were delivered with a lethal and sharp effect clipped and punctuated by the door slamming in Stiles face.

Stiles felt the sound in his bones and flinched in response. He stared at it for a long time, then leaned his head against the cold painted metal trying to get his hitching breaths under control.

Peter listened from the other end of the door his own head leaned against it, his fists balled so tightly that the claws that had formed there from his unbidden half shift dug into his palms until scarlet droplets rained down on either side of him, and soaked into his carpet. His body trembled with his attempts to control his quiet sobs. He listened until Stiles was gone, then fell to his knees and let himself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you too DesiSky who edited and then wrote the ending of this chapter (which I defiantly did NOT cry to when I read it for the first time).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I cant wait to see how it all ends.
> 
> PS. I wasn't going to mention it but I (Neville) struggle with tenses so, though hopefully you didn't notice, the first couple chapters are written mostly in present tense while the rest is mostly in past. It's something I'm trying to train my self out of but as they say old habits die hard.


End file.
